


Won't Be Long Now

by serenalunera



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of Death, Rickyl Writers' Group, Sick Character, Terminal Illnesses, Vomiting, Wedding, so am I, this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/pseuds/serenalunera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes life is kind. Sometimes, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Be Long Now

**Author's Note:**

> try #2 at angst for a tumblr prompt... please don't hate me???

“Hey. Ya alright? Want me ta drive?” Concern was laced with the hoarseness of Daryl's voice as he laid a comforting hand on his boyfriend's thigh, turning towards him as much as his seat allowed him to. They had been driving without exchanging a word for the past ten minutes, the relative silence of the car making the raspy undertones of the redneck's voice sound like broken glass.

“No, no. You're tired. I'll manage.” Rick's reply was flat, almost as dry as his mouth felt when he tried – and failed – to form a smile, his right hand coming to rest on top of his lover's in an attempt to reassure him. The deputy turned his head back towards the road as soon as he was done talking, finding it unnecessarily difficult to look at Daryl for more than a couple of seconds, and hating himself for it.

They had just left the hospital after an overnight stay – spent in the waiting room for Rick, and in a cold hospital bed for Daryl. The staff had made it clear that unmarried partners were not allowed beyond visitation time, and it had taken several forceful attempts to get the deputy to move from his seat next to the hunter's bed. The night, as restless as it had been, had been followed by an early morning CT scan and a drawn out consultation with a team of doctors, all repeating the same mantra again and again despite the blank look painted all over the redneck's face.

The meeting had ended with Daryl walking out of the room in silence, making a beeline for the nearest bathroom, and throwing up everything in him – bile, mostly, with a side of crushed hopes and broken dreams. Rick had followed close behind, having spotted him from where he had been pacing in the waiting room. He had stepped into the bathroom just in time to hold his boyfriend's hair back before the redneck had started dry heaving painfully, only falling back against the side of the booth after what must have felt like an eternity.

Rick had said nothing, opting instead to rest on the other side of the booth, both men sitting in front of one another on the floor, their legs tangled in the short space between them. The room had been silent for some time, miraculously left undisturbed long enough for Daryl to gather himself and give his other half a more concise version of what the doctors had told him in excruciating detail. That he had stage four pancreatic cancer, that it had metastasized in his lungs, liver, and intestines, and that there was nothing they could do. That he had six months to live at best, that all they could offer him was palliative care, and that he should get his affairs in order before...

_Before._

Before what, exactly? They hadn't told him what to expect, just that he had to prepare himself _before the time came_ , without explaining to him how he would go, if it would be painful, if it would be ugly, if it would leave an open, gushing wound on the hearts of the ones he loved – or his own, for that matter. The only thing they had done was talk his ear off about pain management medication, end of life care and grief counseling for him and his _partner_ , to which Daryl had nodded politely before making his exit and promptly puking his guts out in the bathroom of what had to be the worst place he had ever stepped foot in.

An array of emotions had crossed over Rick's face after that, before settling on what Daryl had come to know as the deputy's defense mechanism: indifference. The kind that made him look impassive, impossible to shake, but was in fact only a mask hiding all the pain underneath. The display had reminded the hunter of himself, because if he had looked in a mirror at that precise moment in time, he was sure he would have looked the same – listless, passive, vacant.

_Empty._

And now, on the road back to their house, their _home_ , Rick couldn't even look at him, probably too afraid that if he did, the only thing he would see would turn out to be the clock ticking above his lover's head. Daryl had to physically turn away from the other man at the thought, his gaze losing itself somewhere on or beyond the window, he wasn't sure. The redneck felt trapped in the silence of the car, forced to face his darkest thoughts by the sheer force of Rick's denial. Should he, too, pretend none of this was happening? Ignore the elephant in the room indefinitely, when he wasn't even sure he would still be there, six months down the line? Or should he confront Rick, no matter the consequences?

“We should get married.” Daryl's voice was like the crack of a whip snaking through the air, loud and decisive in the perpetual silence of the car. His words were enough for the deputy to slam on the brakes, just in time for the car to stop in front of the red light he would have run if not for the hunter's intervention.

“We don't _have_ to-” Rick was staring at an invisible spot on the windshield as he spoke, his tone betraying how startled he was, and his voice coming out too fast for it to be natural – yet not fast enough for him to get his point fully across, the redneck cutting him off mid-sentence.

“No, we don't. But I want to. I was gonna ask anyway. On yer birthday.” The hunter shifted in his seat, resting his elbow against the door and his cheek on top of his hand. “So? Yes or no?” Daryl's tone was grave, everything stripped from his voice except for the seriousness of his question and the quiet confidence of a man determined to live out the rest of his days with the one he loved.

“Yeah. Yeah, let's get married.”

\---

They hadn't made a big deal out of it. A quick trip to City Hall a few months later, with the kids, Rick's parents and the people who they had come to call their family after all these years. There had been no personal vows, only a fond look between the two and the standard expression of intent, followed by the ceremony of the rings and the big kiss everyone had been waiting for. They had left for Hershel's almost as soon as it had ended, the veterinarian gracious enough to lend them his property for a small celebration, at the insistence of their closest friends.

“Can we get a picture of the newlyweds before Daryl rips his tie off?” It was Carol who had spoken, gesturing towards the couple with one hand and the camera in Glenn's palms with the other, a sweet smile stretching her lips as a few chuckles rose in the living room.

“Come on guys, I wanna show Glenn Jr. when he's older.” The young man displayed a toothy grin as he stood before the brand new spouses, camera at the ready.

“Ya got time, he ain't even born yet. 'Sides, ain't no way Maggie's lettin' ya name him that.” Daryl snorted, his husband's smirk echoing his as they moved closer together. They posed holding onto each other's waists, happy smiles tugging the corners of their lips upwards as a disgruntled Glenn snapped picture after picture, his wife's laughter clearly audible behind him.

The rest of the evening had gone as planned, with its fair share of poorly planned pranks, and “enough booze to drown a horse,” as Abraham had so eloquently put it. Rick and Daryl had assured Hershel they would make sure there would be no alcohol brought into his home, but to everyone's surprise, it had been the veterinarian himself who had seemingly robbed a liquor store, with the help of his daughters and son-in-law. When asked why, the old man had instantly broken into that mysterious smile of his, clasped both men's shoulders, and told them there was nothing in this world he wouldn't do for them. After that, he had simply walked away to fuss over his oldest daughter's growing stomach, leaving the couple staring after him, stunned.

The whole day had been emotional to an extent, but it was only towards the end of the night that tears had been shed. It had been a hard decision to make, but after careful consideration, Rick and Daryl had decided to tell everyone about the latter's condition that night. They had told Carl and Judith a few days after the redneck's visit to the hospital, even if the little girl was still a little too young to fully understand what such a diagnosis would entail. Carl had been silent for a long time, only to climb into his father's bed late at night to cry himself to sleep against Daryl's shoulder, hardly leaving the hunter's side ever since.

Rick's parents had responded with confusion, perplexed as to why the couple had decided to go through with the wedding if the deputy was destined to be widowed, but hadn't said much beyond that point – probably too stunned by the news to react properly. Maggie had been the first to cry, tears soaking her pretty face as well as Hershel's shirt when she melted into his arms, Glenn not far behind as he pulled both Rick and Daryl against him, whispering something about being glad he had taken pictures after all. The night had ended on a sour note, with everyone wishing the newlyweds luck, and each and every one of their friends stopping the couple on their way out to embrace them.

\---

Daryl's grip on his thighs was tight, knuckles turning white with pressure, nails digging into the denim of his jeans. Rick's palm clasping his own stopped him, the hunter choosing instead to bring his free hand to his mouth, teeth biting down on hangnails as he turned an anxious look towards his husband. The deputy threw a small smile his way, simply nodding in the direction of the trailer just up the road from their car as he traced soothing circles over the back of the redneck's hand with the pad of his thumb.

Sighing loud enough to get rid of most of the pent up nervousness he was experiencing, Daryl counted to three before getting out of the car, the door closing behind him as he made his way along the withered road to the run-down shack up ahead. A couple of stairs creaked as he climbed them, the redneck finally coming to a stop in front of the door to take a steadying breath. The hunter took a minute to detail the way in which paint was peeling off the familiar wood panel, only to be interrupted by someone flinging it open right in front of him, Merle's face like a ghost's across the threshold.

“Ya look like ya've seen a ghost, baby brother.” Merle snorted, a smirk playing along his lips as he took in the other man's pale face and startled eyes, his younger brother clearly taken aback by his sudden appearance.

“That's 'cause ya look like one. Ya look like shit and yer hair's all white.” Daryl smirked back, making a point of looking his brother up and down critically, only for the older man to grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him inside, kicking the door closed behind them.

There was a brief commotion between the two as they made their way inside, Merle taking great care in ruffling his baby brother's too long hair. Daryl's protests were rapidly silenced by a croaking voice coming from the other side of the room, asking what the hell was going on.

“Nothin' that concerns ya.” Merle was quick to answer, his hold on Daryl faltering as he took a step back, his expression changing as he was yet again reminded of who he was living with by the flash of repressed fear coming over his little brother's face.

Shaking his head, the hunter mumbled something that sounded like “c'mon” before walking over to the source of the voice, stopping a few paces away from where their father sat on the ratty living room couch. Hard eyes bored into his, prompting him to start biting his lips nervously, fingers curling and uncurling against his sides as the old man stared at him, expressionless. A curt nod in the direction of the armchair had Daryl seated in a matter of seconds, the younger Dixon paralyzed in his seat by poorly suppressed tremors as well as Will's unforgiving stare.

Merle took a seat as well, choosing to rest on top of the couch's armrest instead of the couch itself, establishing a good amount of distance between him and his father, as he had always done. Silence stretched on for a long time, no sound audible except for the intermittent creaking of wood panels and the murmur of the three men's breathing. Daryl's gaze was focused on his lap, where the fingers of his right hand were busy fiddling with the silver ring adorning his left.

“I got married last week.” Daryl's voice came out a little rougher than he intended it to, loud in his ears compared to the icy silence of the room, but bold enough for him to risk a look in his father's direction, where the only thing he found were the tell-tale signs of surprise.

“With yer cop?” Merle's reply was measured, the redneck clearly trying hard not to insult his little brother's husband, having learned his lesson the last time he had dared calling the other man names in front of Daryl, only to end up feeling sorry for himself after a good punch to the face had left him with a black eye.

“Yeah. Weren't a big thing, just went ta City Hall with the kids and a few people, had a party at Hershel's and got home 'fore the sun came up.” Daryl shrugged, trying to make it sound like they hadn't missed much, like the fact that they hadn't been invited wasn't anything personal – well, they _had_ been invited. Daryl simply hadn't found it in him to send out the invitations.

“That why ya came here? Ta tell me ya got hitched, askin' fer my blessin'? 'Cause that ain't happenin', boy. Ain't givin' yer fairy ass nothin', let alone my goddamn approval.” Will sneered, moving forward in his seat, looking every bit like a predator, ready to pounce.

“That ain't why I'm here.” Daryl flinched despite his best efforts, curling in on himself in the superficial comfort of the armchair. He dropped his gaze, eyes zeroing in on the desaturated spots of the floorboards, poorly concealed by a scraggly, beer-stained rug.

“Then why d'ya come here, boy?” Will arched a brow, couch cushions sagging beneath his weight as he settled back in his seat, his grip on the armrest easing a little under Merle's watchful eye.

“I came here ta say goodbye.” Daryl was biting his lip again, gaze unfocused as he started fiddling with his ring again, his relatives' silence enough for him to pursue. “I got cancer. Got three months left, maybe three and a half if I'm lucky. So I thought I'd come here and say goodbye, 'fore... Ya know.” He shrugged, eyes still lost somewhere on the floor to his right, too scared to look up and see the only thing he could imagine would be painted all over his father's face: relief.

“Looks like the family tradition lives on.” Will scoffed, sinking further into the couch cushions as his hold on the armrest relaxed completely, his posture making him look like some kind of deflated balloon – which wasn't that far from the truth, after all.

“What's that?” Daryl lifted his eyes at that, finally focusing on something other than the old stains and various dents littering the floorboards of the trailer, his gaze crossing his father's piercing stare for the very last time.

“Ain't nobody can kill a Dixon but a Dixon.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[serenalunera](http://serenalunera.tumblr.com)


End file.
